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Moving Day

I didnt have a couch in the new apartment for almost 6 weeks. Somehow it didnt bother me. It wasnt until friends from my son's school came by that I realized how uncivilized it was.

Each thing, each thought, each step, each purchase took so much energy. The idea of going out and purchasing furniture had overwhelmed me. Somehow solidifying the situation. I took steps as if walking on ice, feeling around in front of me blindly, testing the strength under my toe.

Could I really do this?

Moving out of the house is disgusting and can only be done by a superhuman strength that arrives when the timing is right. And the clouds move between the moon allowing a single glimpse that reveals ones spirit purely. Much like in Les Miserables when the priest catches Jean Valjean stealing his silver candlesticks, but in the gentle grace of clarity, he allows him to go. Freely.

Maybe that's a bit dramatic, but nonetheless, it applied.

We had split, the deed was done, and it was moving day. How could I take belongings to make a home and simutaneously not utterly destroy the home from which I was taking? It was a riddle I havent quite answered.

In the end, all the things seemed pretty meaningless. I carefully chose a few pieces and car loads, driving them accross town, feeling like a thief in the night even though I wasnt. For me, it may have hurt most to feel I was hurting him. I knew he would come home to an empty house and even though he had been for years, this was different.

I always remember a friend of mine left her husband when he went to pick up lunch, she came back from a trip and just knew she was done, he went to get the food and she threw her clothes in the car, while socks fell into the driveway and under the car. When he came back and realized what was going on he couldnt get over the little rolled up sock under the car, forgotten and surprised.

The only way out is through. And I knew this. We cant avoid discomfort, we cant avoid the severing that it is. But when it is the right thing to do, the only thing to do, something will carry us through. Something rises up and disagrees with the life we are living so harshly that drastic measures must be taken. For me, by the time I was physically seperating, I was ready to feel good again. I felt bad and lost for too long and maybe the intensity heightens right before we jump off the high dive or arrive on the other shore, and that is what happens when we finally pull the plug, pack our bags or watch them leave. It peaks, increases, the fire becomes worse....we scream, cry, doubt, wonder, then it's done. And the good news is, we close that chapter.

I can only imagine that some of those thoughts were a part of what my spouse felt, or has felt, during her "out" moment when she separated from me. I never shouted. I never struck. I never cheated on her. I never looked at another woman unless she asked me to notice something that interested her. I never held back the things she desired. I did apparently stop listening. I did apparently express my love to her less and less. I did apparently exchange my original "self" for something that has grown much from being left "completely isolated" from the woman in my life. And, to this day, I cannot lie to her, I cannot look for another woman for comfort of any kind; and, I use to fear the situation that I am in but realize that this, too, shall pass with time.

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